


Drift

by auraofdawn



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pacific Rim Fusion, Angst and Tragedy, Canon-Typical Violence, End of the World, Family Bonding, Family Secrets, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Into The Spardaverse Week, Uncle-Nephew Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-07
Updated: 2020-02-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:35:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22593385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/auraofdawn/pseuds/auraofdawn
Summary: Dante had been one of the best jaeger pilots, back in the day. Then Vergil had been ripped away from him mid-Drift, and he’s never been the same. But when a cane-wielding man warns him of humanity’s last chance to stop the demonic-kaiju invasion, he has to stop and consider his options, which include a hotheaded new co-pilot who looks far too familiar. (Pacific Rim AU)
Relationships: Dante & Nero (Devil May Cry), Dante & V (Devil May Cry), Dante & Vergil (Devil May Cry), Kyrie/Nero (Devil May Cry), Nero & Nico (Devil May Cry), Nero & V (Devil May Cry)
Comments: 17
Kudos: 72





	1. first meetings

**Author's Note:**

> this is basically "DMC 5 if Dante and co hadn't shown up during 4," so some of those loose ends are still flailing around and I'm really trying to keep it from being confusing. sorry in advance!

> _In the east they call them kaiju. In the south, diablos. Every variant of monster known to man's languages. But only few realize that one name overlaps with the truth: demons._
> 
> \- Demonic Defense Coalition Handbook, Vol. 1

FORTUNA

1200 HOURS

The bell gave its first toll at noon exactly. But that old tower always ran early, Nero knew. He had three more blocks and a dozen demons to put down, all before Kyrie's solo ended, and, if Sparda be willing, he could get out before mass kicked into high gear. 

But Nero was rarely so lucky.

Even with that jerkass Sanctus dead and gone, the new priests just kept right on delivering his sermons, sometimes word for word. Why in hell no one had complained yet was beyond him. There was always so much prattling about "today's youth" (meaning Nero) "failing morality" (Nero's mouth), and "lacking loyalty" (Nero again). But for Kyrie's sake, he would do anything, including listen to the same old story, over and over again.

_When the human world was first invaded it wasn't through air or earth, stars or moon, but through a fissure in time and space itself. A portal between dimensions: the Hell Gate._

_Legends had always told of demons in human history—always discredited as mere fiction in the flawed imagination of man. But for all the tales of ghastly, evil demons tempting humanity to commit sin, there was one story about a demon who woke to justice in order to protect earth. A legendary dark knight..._

_His name was Sparda._

_Two thousand years ago, when the demons waged their first war on humanity, he stopped them single-handedly. Now, in the age of the new millennia, they've returned in the very name of the demon who started the whole war: Mundus. Hell-bent on revenge, he sent his most ferocious demons to the human world with only one directive: find and destroy humanity until Sparda himself burns._

_It was His divine glory that gifted us our absolution, and to Him we owe our eternal gratitude. In His name, we pray for deliverance from the inevitable evil._

"Amen," the congregation echoed with a monotone that gave Nero a migraine.

He scoffed. Matching white hoods gaped in his direction only to be met by his defiant glare.

He stood up and regarded Kyrie. Her warm brown eyes searched his cool blues quickly, filled with a worry he never felt worthy of.

"All this preaching's putting me to sleep," he told her as gently as he could. Still, her face went soft and sad—the combination that made him the most weak in the knees—but nodded solemnly. He would have to make it up to her, later. That necklace from the jeweler's guild had caught her eye the past few farmer's markets, but she'd denied her interest every time he asked her. He would have used his last stipend to get it for her if she hadn't brought another mouth home to feed, but he could never complain about the orphans—not when that had been him, once. 

He was reaching for his headphones when one last noise caught his hands in midair, all his hunting-tuned instincts zeroing in what should have been an empty path behind him. It was a steady clacking, not unlike the church bells tolling his lateness before, their steady rhythm getting closer, more urgent.

Nero whirled around with one hand on his sword and the other on his gun holster, only to find a frail excuse of man waiting for him. No white hood, no Order uniform, and _certainly_ not local, if his black leather clothes could say any more. "Can I help you?" he asked.

"You can, actually," he answered, but the guy just looked at him, like he knew everything about him already. 

Nero wanted to shout or clock the guy in his smug, emo face, but managed to stay rooted on the spot. "Look," he began, "if you want a tour of the opera house, they're running mass right now, so you're better off waiting an hour or—"

"It's remarkable how they preach so much here, and yet they don't speak of the jaegers, do they?” The man paid no mind to Nero at all, it seemed. “Man is flawed, and Sparda isn't, so its humanity's own fault that their end is upon them because they've strayed so far from _His_ message, correct?"

Nero could only gawk. "You spend some time in a cult, too?"

The man's lips thinned into a firm line, but whether he was displeased or something else was beyond Nero. "I'm familiar with methods of subjugation, yes."

Nero absently scratched his head, finally convinced this guy was just a crackpot and didn't mean business. "You got a point?"

“You would know yourself, wouldn't you? That Sparda stood up, turned around, and taught humanity how to defend itself. Thus, the birth of the jaegers, and highly-trained pilots such as yourself."

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. The jaeger programs are finished.”

“On paper, yes, but in purpose? When kaiju-sized demons threaten humanity more and more often?”

Nero just huffed. Where was this guy going? He was getting just as tiresome and dodgy as the priests.

"And what purpose is there left for you to play, when you were the alpha candidate for the Order of the Sword's private jaegar program?"

"Where the hell did you hear that?" Nero nearly growled. 

The dark-haired man just smirked. "I have my ways." 

"I can't tell you anything." Just like every other rag that had come crawling through town smelling the rumors of demon attacks that went unreported on the mainland, and for those who too good at their jobs, descriptions of jaegers from _outside_ the Demonic Defense Coalition. The only perk the mess had ever landed him was Nico, but she was another conviction entirely. 

"Is that because of the program being terminated or your co-pilot being killed?"

Nero all-but-leapt at the rude man, his finger only inches from stabbing him in the chest. "I don’t know what you think you know about me, man, but don’t you dare act like you know!"

"I just thought a young, promising pilot like yourself might want one last chance at saving everything your care about. Unless, you don’t think you’re strong enough?”

Nero’s fist clenched so hard it drew blood. 

* * *

CAPULET CITY 

2100 HOURS

Garish pink neon glowed through the snow flurries but through it all only a consistent snore echoed through the dark office. The tall brass doors creaked open slowly and closed before the snow could make itself at home, unlike the dozing figure slumped on the desk in the back of the room.

"Whaddaya want, Morrison?” a sleepy voice groaned as a magazine slid off his face and met the floor with a dusty smack. 

"I can tell you where to ask him yourself, if you'd like," another voice crooned. 

"What makes you think I want to?"

"This is a business, is it not?" the mysterious man swung his cane around, its silver neck dull in the lack of lighting. "Businessmen need clients, and clients need things done."

"I set my own hours," the businessman murmured through a slow yawn. "What, you need somethin'?"

"If I merely needed something, I could go to any other handyman who can actually afford to keep his lights on," the client sauntered about, his cane's clacking sounding like a mocking echo off the dark walls. "But I require the unique talents of a jaegar pilot named Dante."

Dante's back flew from his seat, his long bangs forced out of his eyes by the rush and his fists slamming down on his desk. He caught himself before he could break it—again—but not before the lone picture frame fell over with a sad smack. For a long second, he just stared at it, face down and worn from the years.

“I can’t be your first choice," he sighed.

“You were,” the man actually smirked. “All the other second generation pilots are dead.”

"A shame," Dante got up and paced, busying his stiff hands with the folds of his red long-coat. "But that's how the jaeger business goes."

"That's why you quit the coalition, is it not?" the man crooned smoothly, leaning back on his cane coolly. "You had your fill of it."

Dante just shrugged, but kept his eyes focused on the very dead and dusted jukebox in the far corner. He wasn't about to spill his life story on some random client. Hell, even some of his remaining colleagues didn't even want to hear it. 

But the frail-looking man in black just swept a wave of curls out of his eyes and demanded Dante's attention with another snap of his cane. 

"And now even the human governments have given up. They've convinced themselves that the jaegars have failed and only those silly sea walls can save them. But I've managed to gather all the remaining jaeger resources that exist for one last assault on the source of our trouble: the Hell Gate."

"So what? Who are you or me to tell them what to believe? It didn't work when we were winning and it won't work anymore."

“You can call me V," he told Dante. "While its true that every effort to close the Hell Gate has been unsuccessful thus far," V inspected the cane carefully, as if it held the mysteries of the universe within it, "that's because they haven't tried my way."

"Your way? Do you know how many times I've heard that exact same thing before?" Dante laughed and threw himself onto the couch. Every genius upstart that ever joined the coalition had taken a jab at solving the riddle of the Hell Gate—and every single one had failed, hilariously. It was one of his favorite running jokes, back in the day: take your theory to Dante first, and if he could debunk it, then it wouldn't work. It was everyone’s way of calling him stupid, but smarts had nothing to do with it; all he needed was a pilot's eye and his hunting experience to see the flaws in those plans. But those that did get past him, and still didn't work? Those killed the joke real fast. 

"This is... special. I can assure you this final mission will be well worth you time, whether it succeeds or not."

"Well, that's a hard sell if you're not even sure it'll work. I got better things to do that'll take a lot less effort, so, y'know..." he sauntered back to the bar, fishing out a glass of something that would knock him back out, at least, for a little while. Long enough to make this try-hard give up, to make the little knot in his chest lessen again. 

V's cane clacked slowly towards the door and stopped. The door creaked open heavily, and the winter's chill didn't hesitate to rush in and slap Dante awake some more, but he waited to hear it slam closed.

It never did.

“The world is ending, Dante,” V crooned with another definitive tap of his cane. “So where would you rather die?” he pointed the gleaming silver metal between the flurries of snow that escaped the cold city streets and the stale, dim air of messy office. “Here? Or in a jaeger?”

Dante could only smirk. 

* * *

RED GRAVE CITY SHATTERDOME

1200 HOURS

It’s raining cats and dogs when Dante steps off the helicopter, making an even worse blur of the crews bustling about the landing platform. All of the faces are young and old, experienced and naive, otherwise. He doesn’t know much of anyone here anymore; they’ve lost so many good hunters. 

Amongst a sea of dark knits and shiny raincoats is a flash of pink, from underneath a dark navy hoodie. His brows go sideways as a fiendish tickle grows in his chest upon sight of a bored-looking young man slouching in front of him, blowing bubble gum. 

_Not bad for the end of world_ , Dante thought. That kid had been him once. But nostalgia only tasted bitter to him, in and out of the Drift. Laughing off orders and dire stats while Vergil chided him was what he had lived for, once. Take away the seriousness and his jokes were only in bad taste, not levity. 

His amusing observation of the kid is cut off by V’s dark, stilted form, the sound of his cane being swallowed by the rain and bustle. He didn’t smile or greet Dante with anything more than a rain soaked nod of his rail-thin chin. 

“This is Nero; one of our strongest,” he motioned towards the bubblegum-blowing man.

“You must be Dante,” Nero said without a hint of cordiality. 

“Maybe."

The kid frowned. Oh yeah, Dante definitely liked him. “They said you’d be the man in red,” he scoffed. 

Dante twirled his long coat about him, careful not to slip in the rain. “That’s me!”

“Dante,” an older dark-skinned man called from the building, shaking his fedora of rain. “You sly son of a bitch.”

“Hey Morrison,” they met with a clap and the heartily chuckles of old men. 

The broker wasted no time lighting up a cigar and motioning for the entire group to follow him inside, though he clearly favored Dante. “I knew you’d still be out there somewhere, showing the kids how to kick demon ass!”

Dante smirked with a flavor of nostalgia he hadn't felt in decades. Only someone like Morrison could get it out of him so lightly, so easily. It was part of the reason why they kept in touch when he had every reason to shun all his old comrades. "I kept myself busy."

“Trish and Lady will be happy to see you.”

“Now don’t go tellin' lies, Morrison,” Dante scoffed. “You know those two only live to steal my kills.”

“They did, when there were kills to be had,” Morrison shook his head. He glanced at the rows of empty jaeger hangers as they passed, where dozens of gigantic mechs had once waited for battle and their pilots. “But the demons that we’ve seen lately have been too much even for them.”

Dante stopped and quieted. “I didn’t know it was this bad,” he admitted. 

Nero scoffed and spat his gum out. He had a scowl on his face that looked far too familiar for Dante’s liking. “Some of us can’t afford to ignore reality,” he snapped. 

Dante held his glare. The kid deserved that much. It wasn't like he was wrong, but he didn’t have the entire truth, either. At least, Dante hoped so. The less people that pitied him because of his reputation, the better. 

“The government isn’t exactly keen to tell people just how fucked we are, anyway,” Morrison sighed with another adjustment of his hat. “But the Sparda is still in good enough shape for the ladies to pilot it.”

“As they should,” Dante nodded. 

“Why’d you let them pilot it anyway?” Nero blurted. 

Dante shrugged. “It just made sense.” 

“You didn’t even want to pilot the jaeger your own father built?!”

His playful smirk melted into a firm glare. “Not really.”

Stationed in front of the oldest jaeger known to man, Dante could see Trish’s wild blonde head laughing along to whatever thing Lady had just said. He waved enthusiastically but caught only the corners of their eyes and knew they would make him wait for a proper hello. If they didn’t charge him for it, first. He had started his small business partly to pay back the small debts he had accumulated to Lady while they served in the coalition together—and then to cover Trish’s extravagant purchases once she made her own entrance from hell. He didn’t want to think about what his debt had accumulated to over the years—and that was _before_ interest. 

But still, they kept his dad’s jaeger in good shape all these years, and that was priceless. It’s hulking copper body held more in common with Sparda’s true form than anyone would ever know, and the giant scythe on its back was the best weapon human or demon could wield. It was in hands as good as those that had forged it, and that was good enough for him. 

Dante breathed out long and deep. "It was his, not mine.” 

“He did leave y'all with some pretty good hardware, though,” Morrison sighed with similar tones of nostalgia. 

“That, he did.”

The group stepped into full view of the neighboring hanger and gawked. In frame, it looked the same. What had made Yamato & Rebellion's skeleton matched, but what was once red and blue evenly distributed was now mostly blue with red accents, and an unfamiliar wield lacing down the right arm in the form of red and blue veins that ended in a clawed grip. At the chest, where the combined crest of their swords was once painted, was now only the hilt of Rebellion circled by thorny vines and blooming blue roses. Dante's gut twisted; instinctively, he actually thought it was cool—if he was nineteen again, he would have loved a sick redesign of his jaeger like this.

But then the thought hits him: Vergil would have hated this. It would have been hilarious, how incredulous his stony face would’ve gotten. They would have fought; Vergil far too seriously while Dante could only laugh the entire time. It would have been _fun_.

_Vergil isn't here for any of that._

Dante didn’t realize how frozen he was until Nero was at his side staring at him like a train wreck, but he definitely felt like one. If the kid could tell, good for him. He'd need those keen instincts, if V trusted him enough to help run humanity's last-ditch effort with a fraction of the experience the rest of the team had.

“She looks good,” he finally admitted. 

Nero made some kind of affirmative noise and scratched his nose awkwardly, but said nothing. 

“Let me introduce you to the head mechanic,” Morrison swept a hand over to what looked like a junkyard crammed into a corner. Piles of jaeger parts were mixed in with bones and scales that could have only come from kaiju-sized demons, Dante knew. “She oversaw the complete restoration of the Yamato and Rebellion.”

From the pile of refuse emerged a young woman covered in tattoos and what Dante hoped was grease. She yanked a hulking welder's mask over a bird's nest of dark curls to reveal a buck-toothed smile that widened into a shocked gape when she finally laid eyes on him. Dante felt himself starting to frown—she knew, that look meant she recognized him and if the first words out of her mouth were "I'm sorry," he would trigger right then and walk out, claws and all. 

"You're Dante! The infamous devil hunter!" she screamed with all the excitement of a fangirl.

Dante felt himself freeze while Morrison chuckled at his left and Nero audibly sighed at his right. Before any of them could blink, the girl was right in front of Dante, wiping one glove on her bright orange smock and yanking the other off with her armpit.

“N-Nicoletta Gold-s-stein,” she stammered, putting far too much weight into the handshake. 

Dante laughed harder than he had let himself in ages. "Its nice to meet you," he told her sincerely.

“My granny helped build your original artillery,” she went on, delightfully pointing to a screen filled with the blueprints. Dante could spot the familiar outlines of Ebony and Ivory from miles away. “So I wanted to keep the family business alive, y'know?”

Dante glanced between the dark-haired, dark-skinned girl in front of him and the blonde painted on the barrels of the guns in the hangar. He frowned. “You don’t much look like her.”

“I got my looks from my daddy. And that’s about it. But he did leave me some research that I used to modernize the jaegers,” she pointed at the new wield on the mech’s right arm. “Gave it a good-ol touch.”

"That's the Red Queen," Nero pipped up. "She's mine."

Dante figured as such, but he still stared at the kid, dumbfound, waiting for explanation. But he just kept on scowling, as if he could care less to inform him.

But Nico flew over to his side anyway, her excited elbows sending shocks into his old bones. “I can’t take all the credit. My creations may be beautiful, but mister anger management is who made them go!”

“Nico,” Nero huffed, a flush growing on his nose.

“What? I can be humble! Yamato wasn’t doin' shit 'till you got a hold of it!”

Dante whirled on the kid just as he was trying to hide under his hoodie. “You found and used Yamato?” 

Nero scoffed. “Just needed a hunter’s touch, I guess.”

_Not just any hunter_ , Dante thought. White hair, pale skin, blue eyes. Any idiot could look at the two of them and open their mouth, but none had tried yet. It was just a hunch, really, but he would have to wait for the Drift to know for sure. 

V called them all over and dismissed Nico and others to their stations, lest time be wasted. When they were gone, it was just the three of them in the center of the Shatterdome, the last armaments of war surrounding them. 

“Take a few moments to settle in, and report back to the hangar by 1500 hours.”

“That soon?" Nero gaped, glancing between V and Dante awkwardly. "We haven’t even gone over the plan, or—”

"It's been awhile since I had a good ol' spar," Dante stretched his limbs out far and wide, bouncing in a boxer's stance already.

But V just shook his head at both of them. "We don’t have time for that. We just have to be sure whether we need to make any adjustments to the Red Queen, and we need to make sure you’re drift-compatible.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was so close to being called "cancelling the apocalypse" and i just hated it so much i almost threw the whole thing away lol. But i was really excited when this first came to me when spardaverse week got announced, so it would've been as waste otherwise, huh? anyway, please bear with me, my writing's kinda fallen off a cliff lately and realizing that these universes don't fit as well as i thought has been a bit of a struggle :///
> 
> if you have questions about the lore/changes please just ask, nothing would be too spoilerly and I'd rather not add another 5k words just to over-explain it


	2. swap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this world plagued by kaiju-sized demons, jaeger pilots have been steadily losing losing the war. All have suffered under the weight of it, but Dante suffers with a new truth that threatens his fragile partnership with Nero even more.

> _The Drift: Jaeger tech. Two pilots mind-melding through memories with the body of a giant machine. The deeper the bond, the better you fight._
> 
> \- Demonic Defense Coalition Handbook, Vol. 2

THE SHATTERDOME

1300 HOURS

Whoever’s bright idea it was to put all the pilots’ rooms in the same hall of the Shatterdome was quickly rising on Nero’s shit list. It was bad enough he was only allowed precious hours with Kyrie as long as jaeger work and protocols kept calling him to the hangars. But ever since Trish and Lady found out about Kyrie’s awful disconnect from the 'modern mainland woman,' they’d made it their personal mission to keep her from him at every waking moment. 

It was cute for all of two seconds when his girlfriend got to show him a nice new outfit or ask for his opinion of a new nail color—until she got swept away to try the next thing, and the next thing, and the next thing. 

Now it was just his luck that Dante followed him all the way to his door and smirked stupidly. 

“You need something or do you just have fun stalking people?” Nero snapped. 

“I’m right next door,” Dante grinned and took a single, huge step to the left, turning the lock open. 

Nero rolled his eyes and kicked his own door open. He could tell it’d be pointless to get any privacy with his new co-pilot sniffing around, so he didn’t bother closing the door and set on gathering all his mission gear into a duffle. 

He’d only made a single round through the room when he found Dante back in the doorway, leaning casually on the frame. 

“So have you seen much action, kid?”

“What?!” Nero whirled on the leering old man, the bridge of his nose flushing itself pink. 

But Dante just looked at him sideways, expectantly. “How many drops?”

_Oh_. Now he was really glad Kyrie was distracted. “Four drops, four kills.”

“Not bad. What are you, twenty?”

“Twenty-four,” Nero corrected. 

Dante nodded thoughtfully. His eyes wandered all about the room, looking for something and nothing at the same time, it seemed. 

Nero shook his head. Not only was this guy the oldest living jaeger pilot, but he hardly had any marbles left to drive with. How the hell they were expected to not only Drift, but save the whole damn world was beyond him. V believed in them both enough to sell them on coming here and trying, anyway. But just what in either of them did he believe in, Nero wondered. 

“What was your record, before you left?” He asked Dante. 

The man grinned with pride. “Nineteen drops, nineteen kills.” 

“Bullshit.”

“Check the record. Someone probably wrote it down.”

Nero slung his bag over his shoulder with an exaggerated scoff and pushed past Dante back into the hall. “Nico’s mentioned it, but I don’t really pay attention when she goes off on her tangents.”

Dante stepped right into stride with him, as naturally as the rain that kept coming down outside. “She wouldn’t have the whole story anyway. Can’t be much older than you, huh?”

“Just a couple years.”

Silence fell between them, save for the echoing rhythm of their steps bouncing off the empty steel walls. Nero’s mind blinked between thoughts, but one wouldn’t leave him alone. They were supposed to get to know each other, right? And Dante didn’t seem to care about, well, anything, so...

“So, uh...” Nero began, scratching at the back of his head. “What’s the story?”

“There’s no point,” Dante smirked, not losing a single beat, “in a minute you’re gonna be in my head.”

Nero scoffed and quickened his pace, triple-checking all the necessary equipment. He was tired of waiting and training; he was finally going to do something. Credo would see that he could reach his true potential, and Kyrie would see that she had nothing to worry about. All of Fortuna would know that he was more than an angry, cursed orphan. 

And they would have to grovel at his feet to get his protection.

* * *

THE SHATTERDOME

1500 HOURS

Nero forgot how small everything looked from a jaeger. Even within the hangar, where catwalks and control hubs surrounded the mech at angles designed to reach it anywhere, everyone just looked like ants. The command hub in particular felt ridiculous, because V and Morrison both put off imposing natures, but now they looked as small as flies, pointing and flying around from station to station. 

Comparatively, Dante almost looked bored. He let out a long, stupid yawn and tapped on his intercom impatiently. 

“We ‘bout ready to get this over with?” he asked. 

The ants in the command hub stopped and prattled around before someone gave a thumbs up. Nero spotted Trish and Lady’s dark and blonde heads bobbing near a brown one and let out a tense breath. Kyrie didn’t usually get to see him pilot; Credo had always insisted she’d stay safer at home or in the shelters. Nero learned later that hadn’t been the entire story, but Kyrie’s safety had always been enough for him. 

Now he just hoped he could save her once and for all. 

Static through the comms pulled Nero from his thoughts and back to command, where V stood in front of a large projection of the jaeger's blueprints, reviewing. 

"You will be performing test protocols alongside a standard Drift," he told them, "but we are most interested in how the jaeger's weaponry feels to both of your rather...unique experiences with previous models."

V pointed at the new construct on the mech's right. Nero actually beamed while his contribution was shown off. 

"Red Queen is the first entirely human construct that has shown great promise. Blue Rose is her artillery, completely of Nero’s own design. Using the Rebellion’s blueprints and Yamato’s recovered form, it was rebuilt as a properly modern human-demonic jaeger."

"It’s a beaut!" Nico sighed with all the romance a hundred-ton robot could convey.

Trish let out a clipped laugh. “Ideally, the coalition would have built an entire line, but—“

“We ran out of time," Lady finished.

“Resources, personnel, government support—you name it, we lost it,” Morrison added. “Now that evacuations behind the sea walls are fully underway, we only have leftovers and volunteers.”

“You two are the best chance we have left,” V drawled in that low tone that made Nero want to either punch him or throw a lunch tray at him. He couldn’t decide; everything he’d seen about the mysterious commander made him uneasy, and that was before he ever dropped the “only you can save the world” bomb. 

“Way to put on the pressure,” Nero scoffed. 

At his left, struggling to stuff all of his unkempt hair into his helmet was Dante, chuckling in that way only old men could. “Just try to keep up, kid.”

* * *

THE DRIFT

The first words Nero hears are in Japanese. _What the fuck?_ he gasps, and then realizes he has no breath or words to gasp. 

Everything comes in flashes of color and shape; A gigantic tower. A bald man with a devious smile and a scar that moved. Dante in a mirror, scowling at himself—but he didn’t frown like that, did he? Nor did he ever wear his hair back in that style. No, there are _two_ Dantes; one in red, the other in blue. A picture of two sides of arrogant youth, the both of them. 

_"Don't get cocky,"_ a nasally voice snarked and Dante's youthful laughter echoed back.

Together they stride through the halls of the Shatterdome, matching tailed leather coats differing in cut and color but for the stylish logos emblazoned on the back: _Yamato & Rebellion_, intertwined as a katana and a longsword clashing in the heat of battle. It was classic pre-fall jaeger pilot wear plus the in-your-face punch of a pair of twins who couldn't have been twenty, by the look of them. But Nero doesn't get to focus on the finite similarities and differences between Dante and his brother; their silhouettes are gone in another flash of light, replaced by the dim shadows and flashing symbols of a jaeger's cockpit. 

And then the sound rolled in its assault with shocks of static radio layering over the calm delivery of a seasoned reporter:

_“The coalition announced only one casualty at the site of the Hell Gate today—“_

There was definitive, familiar SHING of Yamato being drawn, blue flames rippling along the arm of the jaeger that held it. 

_“Look at you, making a big dramatic entrance and stealing my spotlight!”_

_“Well, you don’t believe that he deserves to be our main event, now do you?”_

_“...You’re right.”_

Sharp swipes of swords meeting nothing but demonic flesh, as familiar and vindicating to Nero's ears as Kyrie's voice was. 

But then hurricane-force gales whistled in the air, knocking the mech off its balance. Rain and angry waves crashed against metal, demanding blood like a god of the sea. The jaeger staggered before being ripped open like an egg, the man in blue reaching for a shining red flash in the light, a look of grim determination. Dante’s own hand reaches out desperately, grasping at nothing. Above it all, the looming shadow of claws, sharpened to a point that had to be the size of a house.

_"No one can have this, Dante. It belongs to a Son of Sparda."_

_"VERGIL!"_

The waves swallow a chorus of screams, the crunching of metal. It echoes harshly in the expanse of Nero's own memories, all-too-familiar, all-too-painful. 

His eyes snap open and lock on.

* * *

"Dante, are you okay? Dante, come in," a voice repeated through the comms. 

"I'm fine," he coughed, the dryness of his mouth running coarse against his voice. 

"You guys came out of sync there for a second," Morrison's barritone helped ground him a little bit more. 

"That's just the Drift," Dante rolled his neck a bit. The heavy weight of the helmet wasn't nearly as easy to carry as he remembered. Either that or he was getting old. The former was much easier to swallow. 

"We still don't have a lock on Nero," V pipped up, a tone in his voice that Dante did not like at all. Still, he glanced to his right and saw his co-pilot still in the proper stance, eyes open, but far too still for his liking. 

"Hey, kid, we're done. You can get out now.”

Nero gave no response. 

“Nero?” Dante snapped his fingers in front of his co-pilot’s face. “Nero!"

The young man’s eyes were wide and glossed over, staring straight ahead but looking at nothing. Nothing that was here, anyway. 

“He’s trapped,” Trish gaped. 

Lady sprung from her partner’s side and snatched the microphone from V. “Dante, you’ve gotta snap him out of it!”

But as soon as the words left her mouth, the jaeger’s right arm lifted, its armor glowing a dire blue and red. 

_RED QUEEN POWERING UP_ , the computer echoed. 

“Turn it off!” Morrison ordered, and the poor technicians behind him typed like their lives depended on it, because they actually did. 

“Dante,” V warned. 

“I’m goin back in!” he slammed the helmet back on and fell into the Drift. 

For a second, Dante wonders if Nico has turned his jaeger into a time machine. There’s no way in hell the place he’s in is real, let alone within Nero’s memories. He wasn’t great with history or names, but he knows centuries-old stonework when he sees it, and this town is chock full of it. 

He has no idea where to begin until he sees the tell tale plumes of smoke trailing from the center of the city, and he takes off. The street signs are mixed of Italian and English, but it’s not until he gets within a block that he stops cold. 

A beautifully emblazoned sign decreed the opulent building in front of him to be _Fortuna Opera House, est. 1645 by His Grace, the Legendary Dark Knight Sparda_. 

Well, that certainly explained a lot. Founding a pretty little theater on an island in the Atlantic certainly wasn’t in Dad’s notes back in the day. 

But, _Fortuna_. That was what pulled at his brain. Out of the Drift he would have never remembered, but here, decades of memories were being thrown at him as freely as the wind. Vergil had mentioned it, once. They’d been put on leave one summer—something, something “protocol breach” because they’d defied orders and done something too dangerous. But what was dangerous for human pilots wasn’t so for half-demon pilots, though the coalition couldn’t exactly broadcast that publicly, now could they? Not when demons were the enemy, too. 

So Vergil had left without a word (well, a lot of words, actually, some Dante hadn't even registered as negative at the time) and returned with even less. He’d been gone a month, tops. Their father had taken even longer trips when they were young, so Dante had long been used to hearing the door open suddenly or to get home himself and be greeted by his family as if they’d been there all along. 

But any questions about his brother’s trip had died on his tongue when Vergil simply announced he had a fool-proof plan to destroy the Hell Gate once and for all, and they were co-pilots again. 

All Dante knows for sure is that Nero is from here. Vergil had been here doing god knew what—or _who_ , he thought cheekily—for weeks and returned with information related to their father’s experience with the Hell Gate. A city he supposedly founded and now was worshiped by, was also home to a boy exactly as old as Vergil’s odd vacation there. 

Dante wasn’t that dumb. He couldn’t do math well but he could certainly connect the dots when they were scrambling in front of his face with stark white hair and crystal blue eyes. 

But he really has gone back in time, at least a little. As little as this Nero, who couldn’t have been _ten_ , sprinting through the street with a missing shoe and the sleeve of his right arm torn asunder. Small bruises and cuts littered his pale skin, and Dante frowned. At least at this age, Nero lacked the family’s fast healing. Just thinking about what else he didn’t have started to ice over Dante’s veins. 

When he got closer, Dante’s shoulders slackened. The kid was a picture of both of them as children: chubby cheeks, but a fierce glare held within those wide eyes. That defiant flare of his nose, though, that was all Vergil. Dante had never been able to imitate it properly—he always got caught up in how silly Verge looked when he got stupidly angry and lost it before he could wrinkle his brows enough. 

But there was that crease, firm and aimed right at the giant demon towering over the city. It was too close for Dante’s liking, and especially not Nero’s, as his little neck moved quickly from side to side, desperately searching for safety. 

It takes all of Dante's nerve not to spring forward, grab the kid, and take him all the way to his shop. The Drift, as amazing and impossible as it was, couldn’t do everything. Everything here was just a mix of dreams and nightmares made real, and it was that frightening realism that made jaeger pilots so good. Overcoming the most horrifying truths about oneself was one thing, but accepting those of another, family or stranger, induced the strongest wills to be found this side of the underworld. 

And here Nero is, the nephew he didn’t know he had, trapped within his own fear and his uncle can do nothing. 

While Dante stares, Nero looks at nothing and everything too fast. He darts forward and back, up and down streets, until he finally settles on a narrow alleyway between tenements. The bright orange light of late afternoon is lost here, and Dante almost breathes a sigh of relief; the kid is small enough to be safe there, and maybe he’ll finally be able to get through to him. 

“Kid, can you hear me?”

A thundering boom echoes up the street, and Dante curses. Of _fucking_ course. It wouldn’t be a nightmare if every possible thing didn’t go wrong, right? He looks back and can only spot the ankle of the damn thing, but it sounds slow. He has time, he can do this, he reminds himself. 

The kid lets out a squeal and grabs the closest thing to him: a rolled-up newspaper. He holds it out towards the opening of the alley, ready to swat the kaiju to death, if Dante had to guess. Were this any other Drift, he would’ve chuckled. The kid was certainly a fighter, through and through. But if they’re going to get through this, he has to convince his nephew to _stop_. 

Easier thought than done, if Nero was anything like his dad. 

* * *

Back in the hanger, it’s getting worse. 

Nero's arm snapped out, his fist pointed forward, right at the control tower. Right at V and Morrison and the ladies. It’s light grew as bright as a midday sun, blinding any and all that could see the building power in the core of its palm that was meant to blast demonic kaiju, not Shatterdome control centers. 

“GET OUT,” Morrison was screaming at the crew, pushing and dragging at the crew members scrambling over each other to escape the blast zone. 

_DEVIL BRINGER OVERLOAD_ , the monotone of the computer’s warning kept rhythm with the hangar’s alarms, broadcasting enough fear to equal a real demon attack. 

Trish and Lady took both sides of the main power line, each pulling on the gigantic plug with all their worth. 

V stood next to them, eyes focused on the blaring red power of the Red Queen. A sudden spark of electricity flared behind him and was punctuated by twin gasps from Lady and Trish as they crumpled to the floor in an exhausted heap. The pulled plug fell at their feet, dead. Behind them, the entire control room went dark, every remote system connecting the jaeger to the Shatterdome completely off.

But still the jaeger's palm pulsed with power, its glow no longer growing, seemingly refusing to die.

There was only one way in which a jaeger powered by devil arms and devils themselves could retain power even when manually shut off. But V could sense that it could still cease. It would, if Dante was still as talented as he had been, before. So he planted his cane in place at the helm of it all, only his innermost instincts assuring him that the Devil Bringer could be stopped before firing. He was sure. He knew how stubborn Dante was. 

* * *

Somewhere else, Dante is certainly trying.

"Nero, none of this is real!" he shouts, kneeling next to the cowering child that is his co-pilot slash nephew.

But the kid just kept crying and whimpering, the echoing stomps of a kaiju-sized demon shaking the cobblestone beneath his tiny feet. It was getting closer, letting out frustrated roars as it seemed to search every nook and corner for this one, frightened kid. Dante had never known any demon to be this persistent for so small a target, but then, a flash of sunlight on dirtied white hair reminds him of one possible reason. 

Christ, this was getting bad. It had to be okay, right? Nero was still standing next to him in a jaeger cockpit somewhere, grown-up and safe. This couldn't be real, and it couldn't be a memory if it was this awful and personal.

"Its gonna be alright, Nero, I _swear_ ," he tries one last time, but shields his own eyes from how the kid's mind might try to end this.

There was one last stomp, a wave of earth forced to move in its wake, and then silence. Both Dante and Nero kept waiting, shielded by the alley, for something to appear in the sliver of dimming sunlight, but nothing ever did. For the longest time Nero just stared at the spot, and Dante looked everywhere else, trying to find the spot where the Drift might be falling apart. But it wasn't. The Fortunan nightmare remained, for now. When he looked back the kid was slowly coming to his feet, getting ready to brave the mouth of the alley once again.

Nothing but dust and piles of debris awaited him, the city looking more like a volcano had erupted than a gigantic demon attack. Visibility was astoundingly low, and even Dante instinctively reached up to cover his mouth before he realized how needless it was. 

Then, there was a slow, lazy breeze that flew from behind them, reaching up and pushing the dust back to reveal the head of a jaeger. Dante sighed with all the relief he could carry.

Nero walks down the deserted streets, not even thinking about how it’s never this dead unless mass was running. 

Dante follows him, watching his pace become possessed like a zombie. 

The jaeger opens, and out the escape hatch pops a pale-faced man with auburn hair, swept back within his helmet in the neatest way possible. 

_Like Vergil_ , Dante thinks, and throws the thought away.

He's young, it occurs to him, as young as they were, when they had started piloting. But this man with stern brown eyes and a down-turned face moves slowly, deliberately, and Dante can feel the waves of delirium and exhaustion rolling off of him. He'd come straight from the Drift, without proper release protocol. Drifting always hit hard, but being torn from it—either by will or by force—would hit like a demon fist to the face. 

Yet, the guy is able to stop his sway, stand straight, and smile. Right at the kid. At Nero, small and dirty and alone on the streets of a city in peril.

For the first time since his last Drift, Dante understands. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I stuck to "swap " for the prompt but "cursed" can be considered how it feels to write/read this much angst and not resolve any of it lol. Sorry for now, but everything will probably be alright in the next one! (probably)


	3. storytelling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dante and Nero emerge from the Drift, fractured in more ways than they may be able to overcome.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> buckle up, this is only the calm before the storm, y'all :)

> _The jaegers began as a process to figure out if humans could bind demonic power to themselves or machinery. Results were mixed. It wasn’t until Sparda himself intervened that humanity began having any kind of success. He defended the Hell Gate by himself for two thousand years, on pure demonic strength alone. Thus, the first jaegers were entirely demonic, made out of metal from the underworld. Some of it is still used, but humanity’s designs are now strong enough that they only need small adages of devil arms are needed to power them._
> 
> _Thus, the Yamato, Rebellion, and Sparda._
> 
> \- Demonic Defense Coalition Handbook, Vol. 3

Picking themselves off the floor of the jaeger was easy. Standing in front of V hours later was much harder.

Morrison goes to bat for them first, and exactly why is beyond even Dante. Decades of loyalty stacked up between them in the form of bills and clients and quiet nights in the dive bars on Slum Avenue. Despite it all, there was a still a comfortable distance there, and that was exactly how they liked it. Morrison never pried, but he could follow circumstantial evidence well. It was his entire job. But even with the end of humanity bearing down on them, Dante doesn't expect anyone to defend him this much.

Even _Vergil_ wouldn't have dared. 

But he can't think about thing confined to the Drift now, not when he and Nero can only sit outside V's office and wait for their verbal lashing. Despite the thick metal walls designed to keep out the worst of demonic and human attacks alike, enough shouting bled through for both pilots to get a handle on just how much they were in for.

"Dante doesn't lose," they hear from Morrison in echos and shouts.

V's response is naturally too low and gravelly to overhear. Of course. If Dante knew the weirdo any better (or, at all) he would've assumed that was on purpose. 

But before he can dwell much more on it, the door slams open and Morrison walks out, all his usual proud swagger sucked from his shoulders. He just adjusts his fedora and nods at Dante as he passes.

It's their turn.

V allows them to wordlessly come in and sit down, only his profile visible from their side of the room. Silence settles in almost as thick as that of the Drift, but that's the last place any of them should be right now.

"I should have known you wouldn't be ready."

Dante immediately launches himself forward, blocking Nero from sight and from blame. "It was my fault; I came out of sync first."

"You are the legendary demon hunter, are you not?" V snaps right back. "Can't you act like it?"

"You don't know how the Drift can be!"

"Yes," V planted his cane firmly in front of him, an end to a story he would never tell, "I do."

Dante huffed. The opening was there, he could take it—just like in the heat of battle. But without Rebellion or Ebony and Ivory, his nerve feels less potent; there's not much to be won from interrogating his client when they have much bigger demons to fry. "Then you know how overwhelming it can be."

V just shakes his head, his long black curls falling into his face. He combed a hand back through it without missing a beat, but Dante freezes. 

"I assumed you'd be volatile and egoistic, not completely _useless_ ," V answered.

"What use is throwing him in there like dead weight, huh?" Dante regretted the words as soon as they came out, but he'd had enough of V's vague games. He'd given them both a raw deal, and he would only accept so much blame. Not unless V would take _any_ for himself. "You wanna save this place with scraps, then this is what you get!"

Nero sprung from his seat and gave Dante a sharp shove. "Back off!" he finally asserted. "I can still fight!"

"Not until you learn to _focus_ ," V poked him in the chest with his cane, which Nero swiftly swatted away. But it didn't shake him at all, of course, and he circled both pilots with a searing eye. "I should say the same to you," he glanced at Dante. "For now you'll both need to practice as much as possible while we re-evaluate our options. The world only has so much time left, and we only have one more chance."

Neither pilot had an argument for that. 

"Lady and Trish will operate as our first option now. You two will stay on deck. Dismissed."

Nero rushed from the room, slamming the heavy doors behind him. Dante slumped back into the chair as if the kid had taken all the air in room out with him. If only it were that simple.

* * *

THE SHATTERDOME

800 HOURS

The cafeteria quiets as soon as Dante enters. He hates it. Food was one of the only things he had left and they would not take it from him, too. 

But even the damn line workers look at him wearily past their face masks and spoons. He just wants a damn slice of pepperoni, okay? What the hell did that have to do with a bad Drift?! Could he catch a break for, like, two seconds before demons took the earth and his precious pizza from him, too?

Dante took one glance at the rows of filled bench seats and sighed. It wasn't like he had come here for the socializing, anyway. He turned and was halfway back to the halls when a twang-laced shout caught him by the shoulders.

"Hey, Dante!"

Nico stood and waved like a goddamn cheerleader. Of course. At her table, Lady and Trish looked embarrassed but glanced up with enough earnestness to pull on his guilt even more. Who was he to turn down three ladies like that? His mother had raised him better than that, at least.

He managed a small smirk and slid over like it was high school again.

For the most part they ate like they always had; the ladies quietly nodding while Nico went on and on about her latest advancement—impressive, considering they'd just been in the jaeger hours ago and it felt as good as could be. But even Dante could tell their failure had been all mental, and as far as he knew about modern jaeger technology, there was nothing Nico could do to help on that front. As infectious as her boundless enthusiasm could be, it couldn't cure everything. 

The room quieted again. 

Dante didn't dare turn, but glanced through his elbows to catch sight of V slithering away with a tray, all eyes in the room following their would-be commander. He wore no stripes or medals befitting a real military man, only layers of worn dark leather and the peek of some wicked tattoos on his fingers. But there was no need for real rank here—not when the governments had long-stopped supporting them and demons could tear it all down in hours. 

"What's his deal?" Dante wondered aloud.

"He only mentioned that he had _connections_ ," Trish answered, "and how else could he have brought all this together?"

"Rumor is that he was a pilot himself back in the first generation," Lady glanced sternly at Dante, the only other one who'd been in the coalition at the time, "when the radiation poisoning was worst."

But Dante could only scrunch up his brow and unwind it. It didn't ring any bells, and he was the oldest known survivor of the earliest jaeger builds. Lady was right behind him, followed by Trish. How had none of them ever heard of a V between all their years and experiences? The fake name was obvious, but not a backstory so close to his own. Was the guy even trying to hide who or whatever he really was?

But neither of the ladies seemed to dwell on it. "That explains his dire need for moisturizer," Trish laughed. 

"I heard he made a pact with a buncha demons so he could figure out how the Hell Gate _really_ works," Nico grinned deviously. 

"Like a wizard?" Lady looked at her sideways.

"Yeah, yeah! A demon wizard! How sick is that?"

"Sounds like he's not the only one sick with something," Trish sneered and Lady poked her in the arm, their half-hearted jostling taking priority once again. 

Dante couldn't stop the small tug at the corners his lips. How Nico fit in so well so fast was a testament to something he couldn't name. And the ladies hadn't changed a bit. He missed this. Missed them. Missed his brother. Missed the calmer side of the Drift. 

But he knew how to get it back. At least, he could try.

* * *

Nero sat facing the Red Queen's torso. His legs dangled off the catwalk as he watched sparks fly from the welders taking apart her chestplate for inspection. The yellow and orange lights rained down the jaeger like a volcanic waterfall, igniting the red in her limbs like a sunset. It never got old. 

A clang made him jump almost off the railing. But he turned quickly to find Dante nudging a lunch tray towards him, his own in the other hand.

"Didn't see you get anything," he explained with the ghost of a smirk. 

Nero scoffed. "I've had my fill of cafeteria drama for a lifetime."

"So the church schools are really that bad, huh?" Dante chuckled, but the kid barely gave him a blink in response. _Dammit_.

All he could do was settle onto the catwalk an acceptable distance away from the kid and sigh. "I should’ve warned you."

"Nah, I should’ve been fine," Nero's voice was clipped, but at least he was responding. Dante had honestly expected much worse. "Wasn’t my first Drift."

"Doesn’t matter. That’s how it gets ya."

"Because most pilots don’t ever change partners, huh?"

Dante nodded. Most pairs _died_ together, but a lucky few had managed to be discharged before radiation poisoning could set in. None of them were still alive to tell their stories. Even in the golden years of the jaegers, he and Nero would have been rarities. If he hadn't quit, the coalition probably would have discharged him, too. For “refusal to perform duties” at the least, and “bereavement” at the most. 

Nero broke the silence first. "That’s why you left the coalition." 

"Right."

"Your co-pilot was your brother. Your own flesh and blood."

"Right again."

A heavy sigh left hollow lungs. Dante stole a glance at the kid to find him leaning his forehead against the cold, rusty railing of the catwalk. This wasn't easy for either of them, especially out of the Drift, but Nero seemed to reel from the rawness of it all so much more acutely. Probably because of both his youth _and_ inexperience. It tore at him; at both of them.

"Credo and I weren’t blood brothers, but we might as well have been. He taught me everything I know."

Dante nodded. "He seemed like a good pilot." In the Drift, at least. Everything had been written on young Nero's face, if not the man's infallible stature, or even the look on current Nero's wistful features. 

"He was. I didn't, I _couldn't_ —" Nero hissed and banged his forehead on the railing again. "He never thought I was really ready to pilot, but I had to anyway... That why you think I'm dead weight? Or is this mission just as pointless as it seems?!"

Nero finally faced him and Dante was forced to see all of him at once; an inexperienced, impulsive pilot, an angry young man, and a devastated soul, all packed into one. That someone—anyone, had looked at him and put the world on his shoulders when he should've been cracking jokes with Nico and spending time with Kyrie—that pissed him off to hell and back.

"Nah, that—that's not what I mean," Dante started, but what the hell was he supposed to say? "Hey, I'm probably your uncle and I'm half the reason your dad is dead! Rest of our family is dead, too!" None of the words floating around in the Drift could help here. Vergil's might have been nagging and annoying, but they had been meant to help, and _goddammit_ if he had just listened _one more time_... 

He doesn't want any of that for Nero. 

The Nero next to him just stares at him beseechingly, teeth bared and clenched like he expects another insult and is ready to bat it right down. But its not just any glare, its _Vergil's_ glare, and Dante just can't look at that right now. All he can do is sigh and hope it lessens the ache in his chest enough to go on.

"Our father didn’t just leave us a few fancy swords, y'know," he began, and Nero's tense brow lessened a little. He just had to keep the kid's attention long enough to find a point where they wouldn't wind up coming to blows after this. "He left us the keys to their real power—to the Hell Gate. They were supposed to be two separate jaeger blueprints, but nobody was more Drift compatible than us. 

"So we combined 'em. Killed a lotta demons. Couldn’t decide on what to call it, so we settled for Yamato _and_ Rebellion," Dante let a soft laugh go there, his eyes falling on the jaeger in front of them. It had felt almost exactly the same, this past Drift. Despite everything Nico and Nero and the coalition had apparently done to it, they couldn't change it completely. 

Nero opened his mouth, then closed it. He glanced at Dante quickly and then forced his eyes back onto the falling sparks from the jaeger. “I just started calling it Red Queen," he explained, "after my sword, but Nico started combining all the parts without telling me, so—“

“It’s not a bad name," Dante admitted. 

“Neither was yours,” Nero shot right back.

All Dante could do was shrug. "A jaeger's a jaeger. As long as _my_ sword is still Rebellion, I’m good."

Nero nodded. His eyes were wide, hungry for any ounce of wisdom his co-pilot could offer (which, honestly, wasn't much. But the kid didn't need to know that).

Dante took a deep breath: time for the most important part. He wasn't sure how much Nero learned from the Drift, but he at least deserved the undeniable part of the truth. "The swords were the reason our jaeger was so good. It was _too_ good; made us a target. Vergil knew—he _always_ knew we would need more power to stop whatever came after us. But it got him first. The Sparda was stolen and used to raise a tower off the coast of Japan—it was s'posed to open another Hell Gate and give him our dad’s power. We stopped him, but Vergil didn’t get to come back. 

One last sigh.

"I should’ve been strong enough alone to stop it. Our father certainly was, but he was never the same after our mother died. So I couldn’t either. Not without my brother."

Another silence fell. The sparks from the hanger lit up Dante's face with tear-shaped shadows, though his eyes remained dry. 

"Credo and I piloted together for a bit," Nero began, "called it the Holy Knight.”

Dante cringed and Nero could only nod. “Yeah, it wasn’t exactly our choice, y'know?" he continued. "The Order was real protective of their ‘blessed power from Sparda,’ and all that shit. I just wanted to kill demons; didn’t care how or why. But I should’ve. When we figured out what the Order was _really_ doing—holding protection over the people’s heads for power—we took ‘em down. Credo died protecting me then, and I’ll never get to return the favor unless we stop this for good."

Dante let a nostalgic laugh echo out of his chest in leaps and bounds. But it felt more fond than bitter. This kid already had so much effect on him, and they'd known each other for less than a day.

"You’re gonna have to earn that hero moment, kid," he told him.

Nero took the challenge by the horns and gave him a wicked grin in return. "I will. Long as you don’t hold me back."

"Don’t count on it!"

A sudden BOOM stole both their smiles from each other and aimed them at the Red Queen, her chestplate now resealed and battle-ready. The rain of sparks dwindled to a lingering glow as the weld began to cool, leaving only the core of the jaeger blaring bright as a new day's sun. And as long as that core burned and his heart beat, Dante knew, they'd have a solid chance to end this for good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so close, nico! sooo clooose! (don't worry, Dante is absolutely paying attention, but he's got bigger problems than this lying weirdo bossing him around rn)
> 
> if you absolutely wanna know, Nero and Credo piloted the Holy Knight, and then took down the Savior, which I imagine is probly the only thing in this AU that can stay its actual size and just be re-labeled as a jaeger lmao. But then they still had to take out the Savior from the inside, which is how Credo still dies and Nero is left without a jaeger after everything is said and done. I reeeeeeeally wanted to figure out a way to keep Credo alive in this AU but I honestly couldn't bc Nero still needs to lose someone to be properly motivated and it sure as hell wasn't gonna be Kyrie! He suits Idris Elba's role so well, I just feel sad for not being able to do it 😞


	4. bonds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The demons come calling. Nero and Dante finally seem ready to fight together, but V feels differently.

> _Sparda helped us evolve—literally. His role in the war became more and more passive until he co-piloted with his wife, Eva. After she was KIA, he disappeared, and humanity wondered if we would be able to defend ourselves at all._
> 
> _Just as we would have lost hope, Sparda’s own sons came of age and renewed it. For a few precious years, the twins piloted the Yamato and Rebellion, and defended the human world from demonic scourge like their father before them._
> 
> _And then, Temen-ni-gru._

> \- Demonic Defense Coalition Handbook, Vol. 4

THE SHATTERDOME

1400 HOURS

_CLANG_

"That's one-oh."

_CLA-CLANG_

"One-one."

_CLA-CLANG-CLANG_

"Two-one."

"Can't you wait till we finish the set?!" Nero glared at Lady, who held her clipboard defensively like it had all the power of the Kalina Ann.

"Hey, you asked for a scorekeeper and this is how the coalition used to do it!"

Dante laughed and splashed himself with a bottle of water. He and Lady had clashed over their spars enough back in the day. She had some innate competitive drive that rivaled even Vergil's, and needless to say they never got along well. Or at all. Lady failed to lose count of anything: score, debts, and just plain ol' pettiness. It came in handy for all the coalition's meticulous record-keeping and out in the cockpit of a jaeger, but goddamn did it make her a difficult friend. A good one, nonetheless, but still. 

"Once you ask her to start, she'll never stop," he warned Nero.

"Only if you ask _nicely_ ," Trish crooned with a snide smirk. Lady immediately smacked her partner with the clipboard, but the damage was done. The redness on her cheeks illuminated the faded scar on the bridge of her nose no matter how much she tried to hide. Nico started whooping in the background. Even Kyrie seemed to giggle sheepishly.

Nero sighed and tapped his staff on the ground impatiently, willing all his adrenaline to wash the entire thought from his mind.

Dante is happy to oblige.

He takes advantage of the opening and slashes right for Nero's arm only to be blocked just in the nick of time. The kid gave him a dirty look; but no one ever said they were playing completely by the rules, now did they? There were no commanders or marshals or trials here in the practice room—just a big bucket of bamboo poles, a mat, and enough space to smack some jaeger pilots around. 

It wasn't like Dante had ever played fair back in the day, either.

Nero responded by twirling back into a quick one-two stab that missed its first strike and locked in place with Dante's staff at the other. Both pushed all their weight in the stalemate, just like they would have with their swords.

Dante's weight measured into a slightly large push, the resulting bounce back gave Nero the opening he wanted—a swift turn of his staff caught it under Dante’s and flung it up into the air—leaving the man defenseless. But then, the bastard had the audacity to _laugh_ and Nero's fists clenched harder. He dove forward with the finishing stab only to be met with air where Dante had just stood, and a mocking hand messing up his hair.

It was far too late to stop his momentum, so Nero could only close his eyes and let his face meet the mat with a loud SLAP. Laughter filled the room as embarrassment filled Nero's cheeks with red.

"Two-two!" Lady announced in-between laughs. 

When the young pilot finally looked up he was only met with the shadow of his partner's hand, held out and waiting for him to take it.

Nero huffed, filling his mind with Credo's wise words and Kyrie's calm smile, and took it.

"Winner take all?" Dante raised a challenging eyebrow.

Nero perked up. "A week's worth of rations?"

"Only if its dessert!"

Both lifted their weapons, faced each other, and waited for the signal.

It came in the form of a blaring alarm they all knew too well: the kaiju alert. 

* * *

MISSION CONTROL

1500 HOURS

V stood with his back facing the entire crew, but spoke as if he had eyes in the back of his head.

"We will deploy at the miracle mile, utilizing the distance to the coastline as the splash zone. Under no circumstances should the city be put in any unnecessary danger.”

“What if we can't help it?” Lady asked. 

“Do as you deem fit. But the effort cannot afford to lose your jaeger. We don't have enough time to rebuild another.”

Lady and Trish nodded and took off, the Sparda awaiting them in the hanger. 

Nero and Dante could only glance at them and at each other while the room bustled around them. 

"How can we help?" Dante asked.

V still wouldn't turn. "You can observe with the support crew. Lend them any guidance you may have."

"We should be right there next to them," Nero muttered. 

"You would if you hadn't completely failed," V said with another flourish of his curls. "Nonetheless, we can only afford to spare one jaeger, and it absolutely _cannot_ be the Red Queen."

Dante sighed. "The ladies are pros; this should be easy for them," he tried to assure his co-pilot, but by the look of his pissed-off face, no words would help much. 

Nero just scoffed, but his eyes wouldn't leave the map on the screen ahead of them, the entire fate of a city of hundreds of thousands in the hands of two red dots barreling at each other.

* * *

RED GRAVE CITY

1600 HOURS

Even from miles out, Red Grave still shined with all the bright lights of a bustling metropolis. They would have sent a evacuation order by now, but that didn't mean they had time to turn the lights off before they left. There was no real point; the demons always seemed to know where their biggest cities and most dense populations were. Hiding behind the inland walls was only meant to be humanity's last resort. But as long as they still had jaegers, there would be no hiding.

Sparda is only one of two left. 

"What do we have on this demon?" Trish asked. 

V's smooth voice filled the comms, and the ladies almost winced in tandem. Spending time around the mysterious man recently hadn't prepared them for the unsettling nature of hearing his calm orders within a real jaeger cockpit. It went against all the militaristic types that had headed the coalition during the glory days, and completely betrayed the dire state of things. 

"It’s a category four, codename: Goliath. Equipped with incendiary horns and significant upper-body mass."

"English, please?" Lady huffed.

Static rang out as they heard Nero lean over and grab the mic. "It can set its head on fire and punch you in the face!"

Lady barked with laughter. Oh, she absolutely liked the spunk of this kid. It would be a real shame if they couldn't fight side by side, hopefully sooner than later. Right now, a lumbering demon the size of a cathedral stood above crashing waves and bobbing boats, an evil glow of red haloing its devilish horns. 

Lady and Trish engaged. 

The blast of Sparda's jets caught the beast's attention, its swift turn sending a ripple of waves through the bay. For a moment the two merely examined the other; Goliath with its tiny eyes and Sparda with all its equipment and the eyes of dozens back at the Shatterdome. Lady and Trish only needed a glance and the Drift to do the rest.

Trish reached back and the gigantic arm of the jaeger followed her move, taking hold of their devil arm. “Let’s take this thing for a road trip!”

She flung the scythe out, its rotating blades sending it flying right into the gut of the demon, staggering it with each successive turn. With another rush the Sparda returned to the palm of its namesake jaeger, folding neatly away. 

Goliath stood uneasily, blood and gore seeping from its wounds, but it refused to fall. With an weak roar it planted itself in the waves and leaned back to reveal a mouth opening right where the sword had cut through. 

“Well, talk about getting mouthy,” Dante couldn’t help but quip on radio. 

“That thing has two mouths?” Nero gasped.

Before either pilot could blink, Goliath fired a chunk of magma, and only their honed instincts in the Drift allowed them to dodge in time. 

“And some extra fire power!” Nico whooped.

"If the peanut gallery could take a break," Lady snapped as the Sparda kept leaping and dashing away from magma, "we need to figure this out!"

A trio of huffs echoed through the comms, but they kept quiet. The ladies breathed a small sigh of relief as silence finally settled into their Drift, pulling the battle into sharper focus. If they could just find an opening, they could close the gap between Sparda and Goliath, but it would take a helluva charge. Though just as their Drift raced with their combined strategies and movement, the shrill beep of another alarm pierced through the jaeger.

Lady and Trish stopped cold and locked eyes, both in the cockpit and the Drift.

* * *

MISSION CONTROL

1700 HOURS

"There's been movement detected in the Hell Gate."

V didn't speak, but the sudden darting of his dark mop of hair to and fro said far more than he could have.

"A _second_ kaiju?" Nico gasped as she rushed over to her personal monitors. Sure enough, her glasses lit up with the flashing red light of a third dot joining the map.

Nero marched right up to V. “So let’s go.”

V was still shaking his head, his eyes refusing to waste time on Nero's pleading face. "Its too early; you two aren't ready. Trish and Lady can still take care of it."

“And what are we supposed to do? Sit on our asses?!”

"Your problems are your own—stop hitting yourself and figure out how to help," V snapped. With another angry whirl of his cane he clacked off to the front of the control room, already barking new orders to Trish and Lady.

Nero immediately stormed off, leaving Dante to scurry to keep up.

"Hey, kid, where ya goin'?"

"You heard him—we have to _help_."

"Yeah, but..." Dante's eyes darted around the empty halls, searching for signs of anyone who wasn't at their battle stations. "Mission control is _that_ way."

"I know." Nero's pace quickened, his fists balled and ready for a fight. 

Dante still struggled to keep up without sprinting. "Hold on a sec!" he called as he took off down an adjoining hallway. 

Nero glared but stopped long enough to see where his elder had gone—the cafeteria, it looked like?

To Dante's credit, he reemerged in seconds, holding a curious-looking bottle and a wicked grin.

"What the hell?" Nero gaped.

Dante just tossed his treasure at the young devil hunter and laughed. "New jaeger needs a proper christening!”

Nero inspected the label of the champagne bottle with his rudimentary Italian. Dante's olden chuckling took over the echos of the empty halls, but he could only roll his eyes. "Don’t remind me, I get enough of that religious crap at home."

Dante shrugged and set his own quick pace for the last hallway between them and the Red Queen. "Race ya!"

Nero didn't need to be told twice.

* * *

Nico is a very good mechanic, a sharp mind, and a tenacious talker. She knows how to use her skills when she wants to, when she needs to, and when she feels like it. Being part of the coalition these days meant using a combination of the three that took some _nuance_ , if she could use a fancier word. 

But if she isn’t damned, V seemed to operate the same way. With _nuance_. 

He always spoke in the weirdest, vaguest ways possible. Saying as little as he wanted to sometimes and much more than he needed to, other times. At least his tattoos were sick, she thought at first. She didn’t didn’t give hay or haymakers when he recruited her and Nero for this last-ditch effort, and she didn’t mind V’s personality as long as he didn’t criticize her work. And he didn’t, because Red Queen was the best damn jaeger since Sparda and everyone knew it, but Nero and Dante had kinda stolen that thunder. 

Sure her genius was a work of art, but what use was art that couldn’t work? She’d have driven the damn thing herself if she could, but she knew what she was getting into when she had abandoned gunsmithing for jaegersmithing. It was just a really cool giant robot until someone could jump in and turn it on. She’d helped restore it with Nero in mind, and _goddammit_ Nero was going to drive it! Having Dante in it was just a cool bonus she would have given the world for her grandma to see, too.

So when Nero gives her a _look_ (not the one meant for Kyrie, _god no_ ), she just makes like she’s adjusting her glasses and nods. He gave her a thumbs up as he ran off with Dante in tow, and not a soul in the control room was the wiser. And why would they? Her only job was to keep an eye on the mechanics of jaegers—she could play spectator as much as the rest of ‘em could! 

If V or someone else asks her a question, or something goes less-than-noticeably wrong with the Sparda, she’ll pipe up. But they won’t notice her typing a lot more than she needs to, or flipping a lot more switches than she would normally bother. Who could’ve known the backdrop of a demon attack was actually perfect for launching an off-limits jaeger on the sly?

A wayward, random eye could wander over and see very obvious security and power codes flying through her monitors. A trained one would know immediately. 

So when she spoofs as many passwords as she can to get past the overrides on Red Queen, someone would know. As she diverts power from unnecessary, unwatched sections of the Shatterdome to the next hanger over, people could have seen. All it would have taken was a glance, a question, or even someone running to bathroom and realizing that everything there was turned off. Nico had lies and half-truths up the wazoo ready to deploy just so Nero and Dante had enough time to launch before anyone could stop them. 

She doesn’t need them, however, because this clandestine launch is about the easiest she’s ever witnessed. The pure thrill of it almost makes her giggle aloud like a pre-teen schoolgirl cheating on a test. But she lets it all simmer away when she sees V again, looking away from the Very Important Battle happening in front of them. V, who’s supposed to be somethin’ like a leader to this lousy lot. V, who has executive access to everything plus a wealth of jaeger knowledge that no one present has been able to glean from him yet. 

V takes one look at Nico from across the wilderness of the mission room—not long enough to be stern or short enough to be incidental—and turns right back around. 

Now, Nico knows she’s a terrible liar. 

But V is, too. 

* * *

RED GRAVE CITY

1700 HOURS

Lady and Trish are indeed professionals, they know what they're doing and they're _damn_ good at it—there's a reason they're the only trained pilots left with the only original-condition jaeger. Lady doing it all as a human was an achievement in itself, though not one she touted as much as their kill counter. Trish, she usually deflected, was just as much responsible for her survival as she was. 

And then Trish, in her own suave way, would remark that it was their effort, their teamwork, and their balance in the Drift that steered them so well. No one had ever argued. But those very doubts and strategies were exactly what lived in the Drift with them, and even if they wanted to it was something they could never quite express. 

She's beginning to wish that she could use it to ask for a little more direction, at least, if this demon is going to keep pulling tricks out of its ass. 

They leapt to dodge another round of magma as Goliath roared at them from across the bay. The shockwave of the jump would only send another tidal at poor Red Grave, but that was beyond their worry at this point. Their mission was to make sure a a little flood was the least of their worries—there would be a lot more than waterlog to fix if they couldn't keep this bastard in the water. 

"Just how is this guy staying so hot in all this water?!" Trish snapped. Lady knew the question wasn't so much for her as it was for the room full of experts and geniuses they had on comms. 

"Why don't you just ask 'em?" Nico barked and they could feel the entire control room roll their eyes. 

Lady and Trish loved Nico like a little sister, but Christ did she have to work on her timing. They looked up to catch the demon breaking loose for the coastline—right where the port had rows and rows of boats waiting for a furnace-kaiju to eat up.

"Stop him!" V ordered. 

"On it!" 

Sparda, despite its legend and might, was an old-ass jaeger. As demonic and experienced as Trish and Lady's power combined was, they didn't have the mythic strength of the man himself to make up for its olden joints to sprint through a few miles of ocean. Tried as they did, Goliath beat them by a couple miles, half a fishing barge going right into its flaming gullet. 

"Duck!"

They did, but the fireballs kept coming, following all their momentum, without fail. Lady felt particularly annoyed at how well this demon aimed; she didn't take kindly to those would could rival her own artillery. When they stopped they had to surge forward in order to catch Goliath's arms before he could grab another helping of scrap metal. But his arm strength wasn't to be trifled with either. He rounded back and grabbed the Sparda's other arm, locking them into a full-on face-off. Lady and Trish pushed and pushed, but couldn't budge him. All the rain and pressure of the waves bore down on them alongside Goliath, and he pulled them into a stagger which turned into a headlock.

Lady swore loudly and Trish let out a low growl. 

The second blow came from nowhere.

Goliath held them in his locked arms as a second kaiju charged up a shot that would surely end the Sparda, let alone them.

They closed their eyes and let the Drift take over.

"Need some company?" came a cocky voice.

A tidal wave of sea water greeted them all, blasting Goliath and its friend enough to allow the Sparda's escape. The ladies couldn't spin around fast enough to see their savior, but both knew through the Drift exactly who it would be.

"Now what did I say about starting the party with me?" Dante whined in their comms, and it took all their combined restraint not to chuck the Sparda right at his jaeger's face.

"We just assumed you'd be late," Lady threw back. 

There was a scoff she recognized as Nero's, though his voice bled into Dante's all too easily. Trish and Lady shared one more look and back—whatever issues the boys had had were gone, and the Red Queen stood resolutely at the Sparda's left, ready to throw down with a pair of kaiju. 

"Let's rock!"

Together they took off, the Sparda's blade flying after the new demon while Blue Rose emerged from the Red Queen's left and blasted Goliath. The demons could only try to block as both barreled forward on them, the angry waves of the bay adding their might to the offensive push. Whether through the Drift or decades of hunting experience, both jaegers spun in tandem around the other, the timing of Sparda's scythe swinging paired perfectly with a firm punch from the Devil Bringer. 

Dante almost felt nineteen again, if not for the much-younger-looking kid at his right, who yelled and whooped with every hit they landed. Vergil had never been so vocal in the heat of battle—he'd been much the opposite, actually. It was only because of the Drift that he had ever known exactly what his brother was thinking, in and out of the jaeger. He'd always thought himself a good judge of character since, and it was no different now that Nero stood beside him. 

"Dante," a sharp voice cut in. 

Dante internally winced at the familiarity of it, but put a cocky smirk right on, not caring whether V could see or not. "If you wanna offer some help, V, now would be the time," he barked.

"I believe I told you similar before you _stole a jaeger_."

Nero scoffed and threw himself into another heavy grab with the bringer, eyes wild and consumed by the heat of battle. "Save the lecture for later! Just tell us what the hell the deal is with this new one!"

"Another category four. The scanners are calling it Gilgamesh because it appears to made almost entirely of demonic metal."

"Good, that means we can get bent," Nero was charging forward again, the rain and waves willing all his momentum until he was shaken to a stop through the Drift.

"Whoa, _whoa_ , hold up there, kid," Dante called, and Nero almost shivered from the ghostly feeling of an arm grasping his shoulder—despite the feet of space that still stood between him and Dante in the cockpit. He had forgotten how real the Drift was and wasn't.

But as soon as their momentum stopped, there was a jerk at Dante's side and they had to spin to evade a fall. Without missing a beat, Dante summoned Rebellion into the jaeger's hand and lunged forward. A tendril of the Gilgamesh had tried to grab them, but Rebellion's blade caught it with a clean cut. Just as they watched it fall into the ocean, however, a few other, small tendrils emerged from the spider-like demon, beginning to glow.

Lady and Trish shouted in warning as they leapt in front of Red Queen and blocked the barrage of lasers with a spin of their blade. 

Nero let all his adrenaline lower a bit, breathing out. Dante just looked at him and nodded. 

_Take your time. Study your opponent. Ensure their failure._ The words rang in Nero's head every time he had entered a simulator since the Savior incident, and again during his disastrous attempt with Dante. Credo's advice had always been firm, succinct. It was annoying when he was younger, but as he got older, he realized that the second part of those orders lied after—in the movement of battle itself and the Drift. As time went on Credo said less and motioned more, and Nero saw more and more of that brief, relieved look—the one that felt more like pride and less like a lecture.

He would make Credo proud again. And he would do it without fail.

"How bout we change dance partners?" Nero asked.

Lady and Trish shared a single look at each other and at their fellow jaeger. Without seeing or hearing anything from the Red Queen's cockpit, they could just picture Dante's typical shrug of irresponsibility and Nero's eager grin. A fond laugh fell between them in the Drift, and the head of the Sparda nodded as well as a gigantic mech could. 

The boys took off after Goliath and the ladies waited for Gilgamesh. 

Settling into something like a boxing stance, Nero found himself watching Dante's movements mesmerized; he looked like he was doing caepoeira in the cockpit, but the Drift relayed far more to him. Surely enough, Nero felt the sway enough to follow along, and the power from the devil bringer flowed more easily to him than it ever had before. 

"Bring it, you bastard!"

Goliath roared and locked arms with them. But the Red Queen was faster, leaner than the Sparda, its bringer springing loose and knocking the wind right out of Goliath's mouth-gut-thing. The demon staggered, leaving him open to a few swipes of Rebellion, the last of which threw him back into the port of Red Grave itself. Waves of boats and metal forced Red Queen back for moment, but it was one too long--laser fire blasted them from behind and sent them staggering right into the waiting arms of Goliath. 

"Sorry!" came Lady's shout through the comms. Goliath's grasp spun the Red Queen around harshly, but they managed to get a glance of the Sparda kneeling down in the bay, its copper hull smoking from what must have been another barrage of lasers. 

"He got away from us," Trish explained with a voice that was out of breath. 

And there Gilgamesh was, barreling towards the Red Queen with its laser arms flaring a bright blue against Goliath's red horns. Nero and Dante could only brace themselves as the demon let loose on them, Goliath's grip firm on both of the jaeger's arms. They were trapped between an ocean and two kaiju, with their only backup struggling to stand on two legs. 

In the cockpit and with the jaeger, Nero thrashed. Even with Goliath's arms hooked around the Red Queen's elbows, the Devil Bringer sprung loose in time to block Gilgamesh's charge, and the echo of metal bouncing off metal sent another tidal wave through the bay. But the demon would not be stopped, and both pilots' eyes widened as the stabbing pain of a line of spikes registered in their Drift and the jaeger.

Gilgamesh seemed to have forgone its laser and was pushing forwards with its new spikes, right into the bringer. With the metallic demon in front of them and Goliath still grasping at their left arm, the Red Queen could only flail about desperately.

A metallic roar echoed out as Gilgamesh was torn right from the arm and dragged backwards by the Sparda.

Dante wanted to holler with glee as he watched his old friends yank the metal bastard right back into the water and plant their scythe in its hide, but a strangled sound from his right cut him off. 

Nero's brow was scrunched up—with pain? Concentration? Anger?—as he kept grappling with his control of the jaeger's right arm. The Drift finished the thought for Dante and he resumed his own effort with the left. Sure enough, as he kept thrashing and elbowing at Goliath, the demon lost his grip on them long enough for Nero to spin around and land a 180 punch right through its magma-fueled gut. Goliath plunged into the ocean, the pure force of Nero's will bringing the Red Queen down as well, but Dante blanched. The damn bastard _still_ wouldn't let go!

Goliath pulled and pulled while Dante thrashed and shoved and Nero just _roared_. 

With a burst of red and blue light Goliath yanked once more and let go. The force sent them all the way back into the tattered remains of Red Grave Port, and Red Queen landed right on its ass. Lady and Trish seemed to be done as well, if the silence in their comms and the sight of Sparda tugging its blade out of Gilgamesh's corpse was anything to go by. 

The Drift is a thick fog around him as Dante lets all the air out of his lungs. He didn't need to see the jaeger to know they'd just had a number done to them, but he certainly didn't want to stick around for the lecture V is sure to give them for—well, everything. Its his first victory in twenty-five years, and it feels just as good as those from before.

But, victory does not last long. 

Nero is on his knees, clutching his right bicep like it is his own heart. Dante takes one look at the kid, blinks, and feels his throat fall right into his toes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't have to explain what just happened, right? You know what just happened. :/
> 
> anyways “clack off” is now V’s version of fuck off i'm sorry I don’t make the rules lol


End file.
